


mirjahaal

by NotSummer



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Depression, F/F, Falling In Love, Families of Choice, Family, Force Healing, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Lightsabers, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorian Wars, One Shot Collection, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Redemption, Sisters, Survivor Guilt, The Force, the force is something terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26697802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSummer/pseuds/NotSummer
Summary: The Mandalorian Wars leave destruction in their wake, but this isn't about them, not really. It's about who and what they leave behind. This is about picking up the pieces.A Farmer, a Mandalorian, a Jedi, and a Sith all settle on Kharos and come to terms with the choices they've made and the paths they've taken.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6





	1. run

**Author's Note:**

> The title is the mandalorian word for healing after emotional turmoil which... fit. This fic is also centered on Baati Daraka, a Mandalorian woman of Pantoran descent. I'm active on @lordimperius over on tumblr, and currently feeling things about Mandalorians, Jedi, and healing.

Baati is Mandalorian to her core. The _resol'nare_ is in her marrow and her tendons. Her armor is in her bones and her fists. But she is also _aliit Daraka_ , and neither she nor her clan believe in this war. But they are still Mandalorian. They have been raised to scorn the Jedi and sneer at the Republic. They follow the creed, and so they follow the _Mand'alor_ and march to war.

Baati is 17 on Dxun. She is not supposed to fight. She is not supposed to be at war. But she sneaks away anyway, and finds neither troops nor droids but a trained Jedi Knight. She discovers the might of the Force, and she discovers the true war lies within her heart, her very spirit.

The Jedi dies to an untrained and unexpected Force Wave. She has won her first victory, and she collects a shattered lightsaber, but she hasn't _won_ , not really. She has taken a life. She is 17. She has used the Force, and now she knows this terrible cosmic power has touched her. This power is the weapon of the Jedi, and she has heard such terrible things about it.

She tries to hide: the creed and the Force cannot, will not, coexist within her. She chooses to be Mandalorian, she hides a lightsaber at the bottom of her pack, and she presses on, continuing the fight.

The more she suppresses the Force, the more it crashes in a tidal wave over her, throwing her around like a leaf in a maelstrom. She kills three more Jedi on Dxun, feels their life drain, sees the light leave them, and she is told she has done her clan proud.

For a child to be eager to join in battle is a sin Mandalorians look so kindly on. It is the right kind of wrong for them. That pride does not heal the wounds of Dxun: how can it? Half her clan is gone, including her buir. Her father is shattered by the loss of his partner, and after their armor is reclaimed, Baati never hears him speak again.

Althir is her second battle, months later, as Mandalorian forces dwindle. Baati knows Revan has arrived before their spies do: they are the heart of the Force, and they have found the Mandalorians lacking.

Althir leaves Baati an orphan. Althir leaves her a Mandalorian without a clan, and worse, a Mandalorian who has survived because they know the Force. She nearly declares herself _dar'manda_ , but she will not be the one to end Daraka for good. She is the last. She inherits a basilisk, a ship, and the last of Daraka's resources. She inherits her father's armor. She inherits the position of _alor_ , because there is no one else to take it.

Baati is told she is a warrior, that her people are proud of her, but the lie burns as she swallows it. It was not the training of a nearly extinct clan that let her survive but a Jedi weapon. She is a traitor to her people, and they thank her for it. So she does the only thing she can: she walks away.

There are hunts that have nothing to do with the war. There are systems that have not been ravaged. Baati finds a backwater planet with lavender skies and crimson moonlight and a small town, and she buries herself and hates her survival and she hates her luck and she hates the Force. She refuses to answer it.

But this, this is the first lesson she will learn. You _cannot_ walk away from the Force. It demands to be known.


	2. outlast

Baati is 18. Baati is 18 and she has survived this crucible of her deification. Undying, immortal: ashes brush her cheek as her eyes stare sightlessly into ruin.

She is a star orbited by shattered planets and lifeless dust. She is a visitor in her own graveyard, and while it seems so long ago she killed a Jedi with godlike Force powers (and that is what they are, really. Physics is a suggestion. The minds of others are a playground. Limits are limitless.), the consequences are so terribly present.

In the Jedi's death, she became more, and now she has been left spat out and undigested by the galaxy that has consumed her clan. Her fingers tighten on a helm. It had once been her _buir_ 's. Now it is no one's. The bright red and white paint is grey and black, smeared by ash and cinder. Althir is still burning around her, and faintly, Republic shuttles harry what few Mandalorians remain.

She pulls her own helm off. Lets it fall to the ground as her knees buckle. She can't even cry, can't even shout or scream or wail. The wind tugs her hair out of her bun, and slowly her head bends down, her chin touching her chest and her hands on her knees.

She does not know how much time passes, but eventually, footsteps approach her. A squad or two, with a Jedi, judging by the sound of their footfalls. Baati doesn't move. She doesn't want to move, ever again. Her clan is here, in scattered armor pieces and shreds of undersuits.

"Daraka," someone says quietly, over her right shoulder, "I recognize the armor patterns. I thought they were all gone, Command reported a successful strike on their position."

There's a pause before someone says, "I think this one is the last."

That the Republic troops could end Clan Daraka here and now goes unsaid. Baati waits for the burn of blaster to strike her back, for the snarl of a bolt to break the quiet atmosphere, but it never comes.

She wishes it would.

The footsteps grow closer and then another voice says, "Karking hells, it's a kid. Fucking mandos."

She turned 18 two weeks ago. The electrostaff gifted to her by her buir is four yards away, next to the body of a Jedi. Clan Daraka was dead, yes, but they did not go down easy. Perhaps she should take pride in that. It would be the Mandalorian way. But it's a hollow, empty sentiment.

Someone nudges her shoulder. "Hey, mando. Kid. Whatever you go by." She still doesn't move. They're going to take her away. No one will be there to give her clanmates their last rites. No one will gather their armor to keep their legacy alive with the next bearer.

Robes fold and crinkle as the Jedi crouches in front of Baati, her eyes searching the Mandalorian's. "This one is in shock. Grieving," she says. Someone has a grudging retort but it's not in a language Baati understands. The Jedi frowns in the direction of the voice, but turns back to Baati. She's searching for something.

"You have no fight left in you, child, do you?" There's pity in her eyes, and that rouses Baati from her stupor. Just a millimeter, but it's enough.

"I have nothing left. They're all gone." Her mouth is dry and she swallows hard.

"Maybe you lot should have thought of that before you went to war."

Baati twists her head to look at the angry trooper. They're Miralian and their armor is scuffed and marked with sergeant stripes. She lets the comment go. Clan Daraka had argued over answering Mandalor's call or not, and had valued their oaths over their judgement. And now they had paid the price.

Baati's shoulders slump and she stares back at the ground, lifting her eyes only when the Jedi makesa surprised sound. "This one's Force sensitive."

Sudden footfalls and blasters powering up answer her voice, but the Jedi isn't nearly as alarmed as her squad. " _That's_ why she survived. What is your plan, child?"

Baati raised her head, looked at the Jedi. "I just want-." She cuts herself off. She doesn't know what she wants. She only knows what she doesn't want, and that's the Force, and that's returning to the war. Practically, she knows her people need every last Mandalorian. Angrily, she knows Daraka's last call for help had been ignored.

The Jedi seems to read all of that from her, and reaches out a hand as she stands up. Baati stares at her hand for a second, and then takes it, letting the Jedi pull her up. "I don't deserve your mercy," Baati says in a low tone. _Let me join my clan_ , she begs, mentally.

"The Force has plans for you," the Jedi says. Her tone is final, and she leads her troops off, leaving Baati to retreat back to the empty Daraka corvette, and flee into hyperspace, away from the frontlines.

Away from any plans the Force has for her.


	3. ashes

The war, so far away to Core World politicians or Jedi Temples, was so very real to Meelo. She has clapped her hands over her earcones as the basement shook around her, from explosions or from waves of Force energy.

She remembered her father trying to distract her, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners as he let her win another round of sabaac, and later, letting her catch him cheating in outrageous ways to make her laugh as their world burned above them. She remembered that she wasn't alone, but listening to the gunfire, the screaming, the bombing: that wasn't the worst bit, was it?

No, the worst part was climbing up the creaky old stairs after the war has fallen silent. She left footsteps in the ash that dusted their house. Olga the proud matriarch still stood above all the young ipako calves, her blue-grey fur turned white by the ash that blew in from shattered kitchen windows.

The world looked like a cool winter day. The sun was shining. She opened the door, and stepped out onto the snow, but it did not crunch under her feet in the way snow does. There were snowflakes drifting down from the sky and staining her arms and shoulders, but she remembers how they burned, how they weren't pinpricks of ice at all.

Her home is a wasteland. A skeleton. A crater. Olga followed her out of her house, and while Olga couldn't understand the idea of war, the reasons behind Mandalorian raids and the Republic's slow and languid response, Olga understood that their home was gone.

Olga understood in a quiet sort of way that Meelo wanted to shriek and deny. Meelo twisted her fingers into the matriarch's fur, and pressed her forehead to Olga's shoulder and she shook, but she did not cry. If she did not look, then her farm and her home were not burned. They were alive in her memory.

And so Meelo ran. Because rebuilding sometimes means starting over, and because rebuilding meant letting the past live as the present in her mind, and she could only do that from stars away. Her family was wealthy from their harvests, so she bought seed crops to begin her own vineyards, she took the herds of ipako, and she found a small planet considered a remote backwater by remote backwaters, and she planted her seeds.

She made friends with the ex-Black Suns assassin who taught her how to shoot and paid for her vegetable crops. She talked to her father and played cards with him over the Holonet and when he talked about how the vineyards were regrowing after the ash had fertilized the soil and how he'd bought a rare herd of guarlara from Naboo, she ignored his words. Rebuilding meant something different to both of them.

Meelo decorated her new house, she practiced with her new rifle, and she installed sensors around her farm. She dreamed about smoke and ash nearly every night. Covers were thrown off, and the sensation of ash on her skin was scrubbed off, and Olga got used to Meelo sleeping in the barn with them.

She practiced with her rifle more, until she could hit one of the native tree rats from 400 meters away. She listened intently to the Holonet news and charted Republic advances and Mandalorian raids.

No one would take her farm from her, ever again.


	4. gravity

There's something _terrible_ in knowing the Force.

Baati is sitting cross legged with a steaming cup of tea in her hands. The room is sparsely decorated: the furniture she has ordered will come in with the next supply convoy, which is weeks away. The sunlight filters through the trees outside the window and dances over her skin, keeping her warm.

It's a peaceful day.

It is a day of blood and fire and crushing death.

The yellow teacup shakes in her hands. Her eyes focus on the bolonall tournament playing on the holoprojector in front of her. Her eyes focus on nothing at all.

She can _feel_ them _dying_. She can feel _all of them_ dying. Something terrible is happening, so far away, because the galaxy is shattered and broken by war and the war is ending. Baati's breathing (shuddering, wracking gasps) is in tune with the waves of death tearing at her mind.

She takes a sip of tea. It's a fruity Mandalorian blend, tasting like home with a sharp kick of spice and ijali berries.

It tastes like rotted blood. It tastes like marrow and despair and ashes and she gags on it. She chokes on it, unable to breath like she's shrieking soundlessly in the void of space as her starship crumbles around her. Her tendons snap as she's pulled into a black hole, and her bones twist and shatter as gravity multiplies around her.

The wood panels of the wall are cool against her back and the sunlight is warm on her face. The birds sing outside and the leaves rustle in the slight breeze.

One of the boloball teams scores in overtime. Quiet tears slip down Baati's cheek. The announcer shots their victory. Baati can feel her people being shredded into molecules. She can feel them losing, but she feels the ones who fought her people losing, too. There is victory, but there is no winning. She can feel their horror and their confusion and their desperation and finally their nothingness. She is staring at a field of stars and watching them wink out as the void swallows them whole.

The birds keep singing. The announcer is still talking about victory. The war is ending.

The war is over.


	5. beskar

The Force is a weapon. It is the weapon of the Jedi, even more than their lightsabers. Baati knows this by heart. She has learned about weapons and the cultures that shape them since she was adopted into her clan at four years old. She is quiet and dutiful and she practices her training day in and day out, nurturing childish dreams of being a hero, a knight (but not a Jedi, never a Jedi) in _beskar_ armor.

She's good with blaster rifles, great with sniper rifles, and brilliant with her fists or a staff. She thinks she knows everything, as 17 year olds do, until she sneaks into a burning jungle and finds she _doesn't_.

The signs had all been there, of course. But no one had been trying to put them together, and Baati has discovered her own secret. She has listened to all the stories and she is terrified of the Force and terrified of Jedi. They're _wrong_ and _honorless aruettise_ , and _mando'ade_ are the only ones strong and brave enough to fight them. That is how the stories go.

And now she is one of those hated sorcerers. She seals her secret inside her, buries it deep within the shadows of her mind. She pretends she is no different than her clanmates, and she loathes this terrible new burden.

No, Baati _despises_ it. She has lived her life knowing this is _wrong_.

She survives the destruction of her clan, of her _family_ , because the Force told her when to run and when to fight and where to hide and where to strike. She _hates_ it. She doesn't know how not to hate it. It is a tool of Jedi violence, and she is Mandalorian.

But this is not something she can fight (she tries), and so she runs instead. She fixes machines, she hunts the local predators, and her basilisk learns how to plow fields instead of burn them. She pretends she doesn't want to vomit when she thinks about the secret inside her. She pretends its not a knife in the back when the Force slithers into her awareness.

And then the _worst_ of her nightmares comes true. A Jedi has come to Kharos. She wakes up shaking and crying for the next month, her nostrils filled with the scent of burning forests and burning flesh. And Baati starts running again, anything to keep herself away from the Jedi.

But Baati is tired. She is spent. She is a mouse in a cage and she has nowhere left to run. But the truth the Jedi teaches her doesn't hurt. The Force does not use her as a weapon. No, the Jedi teaches her how to knit bone back together, how to coax cuts to close, and how to soothe bruises. And as she learns to reach out and heal others, the self-hate and the fear begin to erode.

A child who's knees are no longer cut and bruised beams at her. A tired parent who's burnt their hand while cooking dinner thanks her. A friend who didn't watch for the rashvine laughs at her rolled eyes as she banishes his itch.

The last strangled gasp of hate though, the flicker that remains and brews doubt and questioning. Baati smothers it when she cradles a pale pink arm in her own calloused blue fingers and leaves a faded scar where a nasty gash had wounded her farmer. That is when the truth Baati makes for herself clicks and she understands.

The Force is not a weapon of the Jedi. It is her armor, as much as her _beskar_ is. She uses it not to wound but to defend and protect, like a childhood dream, like a knight in _beskar_ armor. And Baati is made whole.


	6. repairs

A Mandalorian with a basilisk war droid is almost never a good harbinger, so when rumors spread of such an arrival at the hunting lodges, the townsfolk grow nervous, almost panicked. Meelo wishes she could count herself among the more levelheaded of the townsfolk, but she wakes from a nightmare of a burning farm the night she first hears the rumor. Tea, a warm coat, and sitting in the barn with her herd of ipako see her through until morning.

There's all sorts of twists to the rumors depending on who you talk to. The Mandalorian is a scout for an invasion. She's a war criminal running from the Republic. She betrayed her people and is on the run from other Mandalorians. She worked for the Hutts. Nothing happens, and the rumors begin to die.

And then- one of the trandoshan clan from the hunting lodges arrives in town, buying a hovervan full of food for a feast. She brings with her news that the Mandalorian had woken from kolto (no one knew she had been in a tank), that her basilisk had been nearly ruined by a snapjaw (well, yes, the townsfolk said, because snapjaws were dangerous and it was good to have that confirmed), and that _after_ the basilisk had been knocked out, the _Mandalorian_ had killed the snapjaw.

That had people pausing, because basilisks are _dangerous_. But it was the Mandalorian herself who had gotten the kill. Perhaps having a warrior who can kill snapjaws is good for the town, some folk suggest nervously. Meelo knows that her own fear of the great three headed predators often keeps her up at night, worried for her herds.

She talks with the general store's shopkeeper that evening, and the kindly old chagrian spins a tale of a bruised and nervous young woman, who despite seeming paranoid, had a certain air of determination to her. She had been polite, and almost _kind_ , the shopkeeper said.

It's an interesting report, one that certainly flies in the face of the others. Meelo hardly cares: her farm is foremost on her mind. Yet the Mandalorian keeps occupying the rumors. She answers requests on the help boards, usually mechanically minded tasks. She moves into Gheil's spare apartment, the basilisk sleeping in a hastily erected shed. The town is nearly completely won over, and then the largest story of all spreads.

The basilisk has been nearly destroyed.

More importantly, the basilisk was destroyed when it charged between a snapjaw and a child who had wandered too far from the town, past the electrical fences that kept the town safe. There was usually a death every couple of months, and twice, the Mandalorian has beaten the odds. Twice, she has survived where her basilisk did not.

Meirta, a gentle Nautolan mother who had gone to Rel's droid shop to purchase a protocol droid for help around her home, recants the description of the great gouges to Meelo as Meelo hands her vegetables from the farm. She mentions the Mandalorian had been working in the back of the shop to repair the basilisk with Rel, and she tactfully explains that the pantoran young woman had been clearly distraught.

Meelo thinks about what it would be like to lose Olga, or any of the other ipako in her herds, and she feels a quiet kinship with the Mandalorian. For the first time, she's curious, truly curious. Meirta leaves, bidding Meelo goodbye, and as Meelo counts her credits to deposit later, her mind drifts to the broken fence in the barn.

She thinks it over, and then on her next trip into town, she posts a notice for a broken gate on the help board.


	7. gates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the gay chapter. almost named the chapter "harold".

It takes a couple weeks after her help wanted ad is placed for the Mandalorian to stride over the bridge to Meelo's farm with her bag of tools over one shoulder. Most of the galaxy fears Mandalorians, but Kharos' local Mandalorian has earned her place and her regard among the townsfolk.

Officially, her and Meelo have never met. Meelo doesn't even know her _name_.

But Meelo has seen her at Gheil's pub, reading manuals in the back corner, or drinking with trandoshans, and one memorable time, laughing and playing with her newly fixed basilisk (That was the moment Meelo decided she liked the Mandalorian. _No one_ with a gentle and honest laugh like that could be _cruel_ ).

The summer sun has dappled the Mandalorian's cheeks and freckled her shoulders, and Meelo, well, she wants to count each one. Her hair is coming lose out of her bun and her golden eyes are so intent on Meelo that Meelo nearly forgets what the problem with the gate is. As Meelo leads her to the gate, the Mandalorian introduces herself in low lilting tones that make Meelo think she's in trouble.

Baati. Her name is Baati.

Meelo retreats. Despite all her books and all her holovids and all her daydreams, she is not a wordsmith, so Meelo does what she can, and she fills a canteen with water for Baati. It is the least she can do, especially since her chores are finished and the herd is grazing.

Meelo closes her eyes, steels herself (because she is the master of her farm and she will not be undone by a pair of very fine eyes), and heads back towards the barn, but finds a showdown instead.

Baati is on the ground, looking bemused and covered in mud from the puddle she landed in. Olga, the ipako matriarch is glaring at Baati, who has apparently become Olga's latest headbutting victim.

Meelo is convinced Baati will _never_ return to her farm again.

Olga is shooed away, but not without an arrogant twist of her head that pointedly communicates she is headed back to her herd of her own choice now that she has made her feelings on the interloper clear, not because Meelo is shooing her away. Meelo decides that Olga is the absolute worst, at least for today, and offers a hand to Baati, who waves it away. She doesn't want to get Meelo dirty, she explains after a pause.

The scar covering her right cheek and trailing down her neck pulls on Baati's smile, which is no less charming for it, and Meelo finds herself offering the use of her refresher and a change of clothes to clean up, which Baati ruefully accepts, after a moment. She picks her words carefully, but her words are certain the few times she has spoken.

Meelo keeps Baati company while she tightens the last bolts, chattering about how she's known Olga since she was born, and telling her about the mischief Olga has been known to pull. She'd worry that she was being a bother, but Baati's face is open and honest, and her eye crinkle at the corners. Meelo supposes if you wear a helmet most of your life, you don't learn to hide your emotions when they shine in your face, and when Baati finishes, she accompanies Meelo inside, and heads to the refresher.

Meelo places a stack of clothes outside the refresher, and returns to the kitchen to make dinner, because Baati doesn't ask for money (no one does, not in this little town where it's understood that favors come around and go around and everyone helps one another). So she can make dinner. That's what neighbors do for the people who fix their gates, probably.

And when Baati comes out, it's wearing a tank top too short for her and pants that fall down on her hips. She pulls her hairband out of her hair to tie up the loose material around her waist and Meelo forgets how to breathe. Her toned midriff, exposed by the too small shirt, and her biceps flex under her skin as she twists the hairband into her waistband, and she pushes still wet purple hair out of her eyes, shooting a sheepish look at Meelo and-

Well. Meelo weighs the name _Meelo Daraka_ , to see how it rolls off the tongue.

Meelo offers dinner instead of marriage, and jokes that one day she'll turn Olga into steak. Baati tosses her head back and laughs, and it's the first time Meelo has heard her laugh up close.

Baati is only staying for dinner, but Meelo wants her to stay _forever_.


	8. stupid

Baati is a touch stupid about Meelo. She doesn't mean she's in love with Meelo. It means she feels like a fool when Meelo speaks, because she always feels like they're speaking different languages when they're both speaking Galactic Basic. It means Baati feels like she's two steps behind and missing some layer to their conversations.

It starts when Baati answers a help wanted ad and fixes Meelo's gate. Her clothes get ruined, so she borrows some of Meelo's. They talk while eating dinner and talk long after dinner, and slowly Baati's typical quiet fades and she begins to volunteer longer and longer sentences. Baati begins to nurture a hope of friendship, and so she cleans the clothes and heads to the farm to return them the next day before heading to help Gheil with his speeder that hasn't worked in a year.

When Meelo answers the door, Baati hands her the clothes and apologizes for the inconvenience. Meelo asks if there's anything else, and asks if Baati wants to come in, but Baati demurs. Meelo's face twists, but Baati is more used to reading helmets and masks than faces and the meaning passes her by. She hesitates, and then bids Meelo to have a good day, and leaves feeling she's botched the conversation and a new friendship without knowing how.

Two weeks later, Baati spies a notice from Meelo's farm regarding a broken bookshelf, and she snatches the piece of flimsi from the board before anyone else can. She answers this notice far quicker than the first one, now that she's settled into a quiet routine in town.

Meelo's eyes light up as she welcomes Baati in, and she leans against the wall in the room as Baati reinforces the broken piece of wood. It's a lovely job. Baati doesn't have to talk much, because Meelo is happy to explain the stories behind the baubles and the holo-frames. The house is warm and there is a slow-cooker on downstairs which has filled the home with the smell of Rylothian spices that make even Baati's Mandalorian tastebuds burn.

Meelo's voice banishes the stress that hangs on Baati's shoulders, and when the bookshelf is fixed and Meelo has replaced everything, Baati doesn't leave. They have dinner instead, and as Baati chugs ipako milk, sweeter than the more common blue milk, Meelo giggles. It's hard to be a species with capsaicin receptors eating Twi'lek cuisine, and Baati glares at her when she can feel her mouth again.

Meelo pillages leftovers for Baati and they watch holovids until the sun goes down and the three moons bathe the world in red light. The changing of the light startles Baati, and she bids farewell, heading back to her apartment on the third floor of Gheil's pub. It feels lonely, for the first time.

For the next couple of months, Meelo has a job for her every other week. They eat dinner together afterwards in a tradition of sorts, and then they start having dinner each week, whether or not Meelo has a task for Baati. Eventually, Meelo draws out most of the things Baati keeps close to her chest: her frustrations with Master Amersu, her lingering survivor's guilt, the shattered lightsaber Baati collected from the first time she took a life. She knows Baati was once eager to go to war, and knows about the fractured alliances between Mandalorian clans that the war caused.

Baati learns about Meelo, too. She knows Meelo is the daughter of a farmer and a soldier. She knows Meelo's mother is with Revan still, disappearing into the Unknown Regions without a trace or a comm a month ago. She knows the vineyards Meelo grew up in were demolished by the war, collateral damage from both sides as Jedi and Crusaders clashed among the vines.

Baati has spent nearly a year on Kharos when she mentions to Meelo she's thinking about a hunting expedition with Maras and a few other trandoshans to test their theories on what is drawing the snapjaws to town. Meelo sort of stiffens, and silently begins to wash dishes as Baati fumbles an explanation on why they've been planning this and what their guesses are.

"You don't want me to go," Baati says.

Meelo shakes her head, and mutters something about knowing Baati is going to go anyways, but that's not it. Something is clearing in her mind, and Baati _knows_ that's not it. She stands up, and leans on the counter next to Meelo, who looks away, her eyes shiny, and Baati asks Meelo not to hide from her.

Meelo gasps and stutters through an explanation about Baati being distant the past couple of months and now she's leaving. In response, Baati wraps her arms around Meelo, curling herself around Meelo and trying to comfort her now, because she has missed that her friend is hurting. As Meelo's breathing starts to even out, the fog clears completely, and Baati realizes she has been missing something that's been right in front of her this whole time.

The late night discussions, the long looks, the smiles, the trust they have shared: Baati finally gets it. Her arms tighten around the other woman, and she utters a reassurance that Baati is not going anywhere. She apologizes, in her own slow words, for not noticing that Meelo has been hurting and for hurting her even more by surprising her with hunting plans.

She apologizes for being a fool, because Meelo is the one who make _Baati_ feel safe, makes Baati feel like more than some Mandalorian brute, lets Baati talk about the members of Daraka who are marching so far away and what it means to Baati to be Mandalorian. She explains that Meelo does not need to be afraid of losing Baati, because Baati is _hers_. For as long as Meelo wants her.

Meelo's eyes go wide, but there is something hopeful bubbling up in her expression. She sniffles, her eyes still watery and jokes that it's the most she's ever heard Baati talk, and Baati reverts to her usual short sentences to explain that it was worth it. _Meelo_ was worth it.

They don't kiss, not tonight. Their emotions are too raw. But they curl up on Meelo's overstuffed couch, and they talk about moving forward, and Baati feels progressively more embarrassed as more and more past conversations click into place as they look towards the future together.

You see, Baati is a touch stupid about Meelo.


	9. stars

Baati didn't think she'd ever mention this to Meelo, since she wasn't sure her wife would appreciate the sentiment, but sometimes (quite a few times), she believed Meelo was more _mando'ad_ , more _Daraka_ , than Baati herself was.

Meelo was a farmer, and once, Daraka was a clan of farmers. They took up arms when their fields and their animals and their families were threatened, and became Mandalorian. But they never forgot their roots, until they did, and they left their farms behind to become warriors.

Meelo kept a hunting rifle in the barn and another in the house and a third in the greenhouse, and Baati once watched Meelo chase off a trio of coyo dogs from the nuna pens with nothing more than indominable will and a stick. Baati has seen her use her rifle to keep the thieving dogs from the pens, her aim impeccable.

Meelo learned _mando'a_ from Baati, just as Baati learned Nouanese from Meelo. But that was a requirement to become Mandalorian, and when they casually discussed a Mandalorian recipe while working together in the kitchen, Baati watched Meelo and thought about the _resol'nare_.

She didn't wear armor, not physically, but Baati studied how Meelo guarded herself and came to the rather un-Mandalorian conclusion that not all armor was made from _beskar_. Meelo wasn't part of any clan, because she wasn't _mando'ad_ , but she lived with her community and her family at the forefront of her mind, and Baati often held Meelo as her example of how to live an honorable life.

Meelo slipped extra vegetables and extra grains into the bags and boxes of Kharos's largest families, and Baati thought about a clan that was once farmers. Meelo taught the local kids how to care for nuna and ipako to keep them busy when they weren't in school and Mandalorian proverbs about raising children and cherishing the young flooded Baati's mind.

Baati looked at Meelo and saw a Mandalorian, and she knew Meelo wouldn't appreciate the thought, but it was perhaps the highest compliment Baati could pay her. Clan Daraka had forgotten their way. They forgot why they took up arms so long ago and they forgot how to settle down and they forgot how to create life from soil.

And the last member of Clan Daraka has returned to a farm. She has begun to remember, and she has begun to speak to the _ka'ra_ , because when Baati saw what her clan had once been in Meelo, she saw the stars, marching so far away, trekking across Meelo's skin in her pale white freckles. When she kisses Meelo's skin, she thinks of the past and she holds tight her future and she knows in what image she will remake her clan.

When Shakka asked Baati what made Daraka different from the other clans, Baati thought of careful farmwork and of gentle laughter and of extra vegetables and pink skin and white freckles and calloused hands. She thought of ipako herds and coyo dogs and shared languages. And as she thought of Meelo, she knew Shakka's answer.

"We were farmers."


	10. blade

A lightsaber is the weapon of the Jedi. They are bound to it, and it is as much a part of their Order as their Code. This is something Mandalorians _understand_ , for they are just as bound to their _beskar_ armor. So when Shakka hands Baati one of her twin lightsabers, Baati understands the trust Shakka is showing her.

She turns the lightsaber over in her hands, her fingers tracing the black wood hilt embellished with burnished gold. It's elegant as well as sturdy, and Baati can see Shakka's personality in the blade. Carefully, Shakka's eyes watching every move, Baati presses the ignition. Heat dusts her face as a yellow-orange blade splits the air in front of her, and she swings it experimentally.

Baat powers the saber down, and hands it back. Shakka exchanges a grin with her as she replaces the saber on her hilt, and then throws a wooden training sword at Baati. Their training begins.

Shakka is a ruthless taskmaster, and Baati knows the next day she's not going to be able to move her arms. It's been a long time since she played the role of trainee, but they are being hunted by lightsaber wielders, and Baati can no longer avoid saber training. She needs to know how to fight Sith assassins.

It takes weeks until Shakka is satisfied. By the end, they are sparring with real lightsabers, and while Baati is not and will never be a duelist, she is adept at mixing more mundane weapons with lightsaber combat in order to win. She knows how to read the flow of lightsaber combat in order to know when to shoot and when to dodge.

Shakka offers, once, to guide Baati to Ilum, but Baati refuses. She doesn't need a lightsaber: she has her staff and her rifles and her gauntlets and her fists. Baati is not a Jedi. That path is not hers to walk and it never will be.

And a lightsaber is the weapon of the Jedi.


	11. promise

Baati thought she knew what loneliness was. She had lost everything once. But now in exile, everything she had fought to regain after losing so much was lost to her as well. And after Tann's death, the ship was especially cold and empty: a metal skeleton with no heart.

They played cards. They both cheated with the Force and with more mundane ways and Shakka won nearly every time. They told the same couple dozen stories each week, and if they were lucky, they found a planet to land on or a refueling station that the Triumvirate hadn't touched. Baati could hear the static of a comm channel just out of range in her sleep at this point.

And then one day, Shakka, with a needle and thread in her hands and wrapped in a warm sweater with her feet on the console slumped in the copilots chair, asked, "What is your code? The Mandalorian one. Tell me about it."

Baati looked up from the rusted probe droid she bought at the last backwater and frowned, leaning back against the wall behind her as she thought. "You fight for your family. Your clan. Mandalore. Speak the language. Wear the armor." She set the wrench on the floor next to her and pushed her hair out of her eyes, leaving a smudge of grease on her forehead. "Why?"

"There has to be more to it than that," Shakka replied.

Baati could almost see the weight of the Sith and the Jedi hanging on her shoulders. Yes, she supposed, Shakka would think there was more to it. Shakka had lived a life by Codes, had known that simple tenets could spawn so much more around them.

"Live with honor," Baati said after a long pause, tapping her fingers on her knee. "Cherish your children, your friends, your family. Enjoy the time you have. Clan Daraka would say remember why you fight. That the reasons you choose must be honorable." The tapping on her knee stopped. "Why?"

"I just didn't know it," she deflected, as she continued stitching. Baati waited. Shakka's first answers were rarely lies, but they were rarely the greater part of the truth.

She picked up the wrench and began her repairs again, only to set it back down as Shakka asked, quiet enough that the dull engine noise nearly drowned her words out, "Can you teach me to be Mandalorian?"

There it was. The woman who had walked away from the Jedi for their refusal to fight and who had walked away from the Sith for their refusal to protect had been measuring the armor on the stand in the cargo hold. She had glanced at gauntlets and measured Baati's blaster practice and studied Mandalorian katas as Baati swung her electrostaff at invisible opponents. Baati had been waiting for this question.

But the war had taught Baati that reasons were important. Daraka's decision to follow Mand'alor into battle without a reason to fight beyond Mand'alor called got the clan wiped out. (Glory was a poor reason indeed, a lesson her people learned far too late.) "Why?" Baati asked again.

"The Jedi refused to fight when we needed to protect people. The Sith… kill and fight for no reason at all. Revan said we were saving the galaxy from something worse, something that was coming for the Republic, which wasn't strong enough to protect it's own people. And that was true, but- was Telos necessary? Were all the Sith cruelties necessary? They weren't," Shakka said, her voice getting louder and more passionate. Gold lurked in her slate grey eyes permanently these days.

"There's a time and a place to fight, and the Jedi forgot that. The Sith forgot that there was a reason we were trying to protect the galaxy. I- I want something to fight for. I want my life to mean something, and when I fight, I want it to mean something. I want to fight for the little picture, not... not the big picture. Not anymore." She looks away after her speech, her eyes churning. The Force swirls around her in a passionate mess of emotion, but behind it all is determination and ambition.

Baati could have deliberated, but she had made up her mind weeks ago. "Mandalorian trials are not easy." If she added one more to Clan Daraka, then they were a clan of two. Then she was _alor_ , rather than a survivor, a last hope. She felt the weight of it settle on her shoulders, and it felt right. "But at the end, you will become _mando'ad_."

The determination around Shakka became a supernova, and she sat up, staring Baati in the eyes. "I won't let you down," she vowed, the promise settling in the Force.

Baati knew she wouldn't.


	12. mirror

Through teaching Shakka, Baati thought she had learned what it was to start rebuilding through teaching. She thought when Shakka passed her last trial and painted her armor that it was the last time she would teach for the first time. But then the Exile showed up on the doorstep, and asked Baati to teach Jedi.

The Exile, who's name was Amali Rylos, had perpetually dark circles under her eyes and faded golden family tattoos. She was as tall as Baati, and held herself not like a elegant Jedi but like a veteran brawler. Baati looked at her and thought about Malachor and thought about Althir and Dxun and-

And she grabbed a couple drinks from the conservator and invited the Exile to sit down with her in the nuna pen. She decidedly didn't think about the familiarity in the shape of the other Pantoran woman' eyes and the shape of her face and after they got through the awkward stilting small talk, they began to talk about rebuilding.

Baati knew something about putting the pieces back together. She also happened to know that the woman sitting next to her had killed clanmates, but Baati- Baati was so tired. She was not a child anymore. Her clan went to war for unjust reasons and paid the price.

And perhaps she was supposed to hate Rylos. Perhaps she should have sworn at Rylos for Malachor. But she watched through the Force as the Exile's Force presence mimicked the death of a planet, the gaping maw of gravity, and the death and emptiness that followed. Baati's clan was dead before Malachor. Clan Daraka lived still, but the Exile carried Malachor with her.

Baati let out a long breath and took another sip. She listened to Rylos' proposition, and she thought about it for a few moments as Juno clambered into her lap. The nuna closed her eyes, and Baati looked back to the horizon.

The Exile's desperation poisoned the Force around her, and Baati asked softly, "There's no one else?"

Rylos shook her head, her eyes bright and shining, and Baati was faced with the revelation that for the second time in her life, she was the last survivor. She was the last Jedi Healer in the galaxy, and she was not even a Jedi. She had refused that path years ago. But to let Master Amersu's teachings, the sect of Healers that she had given decades of service to pass on... Baati's chest constricted. "I will train three Healers," she agreed.

The war had left children to rebuild from fractured pieces of the legacies left to them. Baati wanted to rage at the injustice of it all. Had her people considered who would be left behind in their glory-seeking?

Rylos let out a long breath as Baati's words registered, and then leaned forward, dropping her head into her hands. The loneliness spilling out from her threatened to choke Baati, but instead she put her hand on the Exile's back.

The galaxy had left them ashes and grief. Rylos finished her drink and left for her ship, and Baati returned inside to sit on the couch and stare blindly at the floor. Rebuilding didn't change that everything had been taken away. It was something Baati lived with, and she thought it was something the Exile lived with, too.

But perhaps the Exile understood more than anyone what it meant to live in hope for a future where one was no longer the sole survivor. And she thought Rylos understood Baati more than anyone else in the galaxy, without Baati having to tell her anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the accidental parallels of baati and exile.... art....


	13. reclamation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im not happy with this chapter, but i want to get it out there. i'll probably rewrite it sometime soon.

Meelo hadn't expected to like Amali, but she did. Amali and Baati had a wary understanding, a partnership tainted by the strain of Mandalorian and Jedi, but Meelo was just a farmer. And so when Meelo and Amali exchanged holomessages, it was an easy conversation that got even easier with Amali's easy acceptance of Meelo's suggestion.

Baati barely blinked when Meelo said she was going with the Exile on a trip. She only reassured Meelo that she'd keep watch on the ipako and the teenagers from town Meelo had hired as farmhands, and for a moment Meelo marveled once again at how Baati and Amali seemed to be the same person, only from different orders. Acceptance and easygoing trust came easily to both of them, despite the lives they had lived.

The _Ebon Hawk_ wasn't the worst ship Meelo had ever seen, and it was easy to stow her luggage before taking the copilot's seat. It was a long ride to Althir. Althir, the grave of Clan Daraka. Althir, two of the worst battles in the Wars. The Exile's eyes grew tight and strained as they came out of hyperspace, but her voice was solid as she secured them landing clearance.

The remains of Daraka's last stand were not hard to find, and Amali set the _Ebon Hawk_ down with a practiced hand. The Force was fractured in the area, according to the Exile, but Meelo could only pick up on a certain unnaturalness to the area. The wind didn't blow, and there was very little alive, even years later. It felt forbidden.

Meelo picked up a lightsaber, and her finger hovered over the activation switch before she decided not to turn it on. She handed it to Amali instead, who's eyes looked a hundred years old as she clipped the lightsaber onto her belt. They collected a great deal of armor to pack into crates, and even a trio of basilisks, but those weren't their main objective.

Amali had a backpack full of lightsabers and Republic tags and the _Ebon Hawk_ 's cargo hold was nearly full of beskar by the time they found what they were looking for.

Meelo hurried to Amali's side to stare at the armor of Jairek Daraka. It was dusty, but rust hadn't touched the beskar, and the paint peeked out from under the greys and browns. The beskad, the red beskar and cortosis weave cape, the helm. Baati had spoken about them before, in mournful tones. She hadn't stopped to grab them when she'd fled, and she'd regretted it all these years.

Carefully, Meelo retrieves the smaller armor crate she's picked up for this reason. The breastplate went in first. The cloak was folded and placed on top of it. The bracers were laid on each side of the breastplate, and finally the helm was placed on top of the cloak.

They would need to be cleaned, she thought distantly. Amali seemed to register her thought, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Mandalorians believe the soul is in their armor. Bodies are just a husk without meaning to them. Returning the armor will be what is important to your wife."

Once the armor was reclaimed, they spent two weeks on Althir. Amali and Meelo worked out burial rites that satisfied both their Nouanese and Jedi customs, and gave 37 members of Clan Daraka and 18 Jedi their final rites. 4 of the Mandalorian bodies had not been fully grown. It was a somber affair, and Meelo and Amali barely said a word to each other beyond their own wartime experiences.

Bitterly, Meelo hoped the glory had been worth it to the Mandalorians.

But Althir wasn't their final stop, and so the pair travelled to Dxun. The Exile was easily able to access the jungle moon, and they landed near their best guess. Amali asked Meelo to wait before heading out, and Meelo grudgingly did so. Two hours passed, and a trio of Mandalorians emerged from the brush, talking in rapid fire Mando'a with the Exile that Meelo barely followed.

They led Amali and Meelo not to another ruined battlefield, but to a camp. There was a single young Mandalorian with mismatched armor there, and he was suspicious right up until Meelo mentions Baati's name. He was younger than her, so much younger, and Meelo squinted at him before asking, "Kast?"

He nodded, and Meelo had to sit down. She had only meant to return Daraka's armor to Baati, who rightfully deserved it. She hadn't even considered that she would be returning another member of Daraka to Baati. Amali reached the same conclusion Meelo did, and said, "Karking _hells_. She's _not_ the last."

Kast isn't Force sensitive, but knowing that there's another member of Clan Daraka out there meant that he moved nearly as fast as a Jedi loading up the Ebon Hawk. He already had collected the remnants of Daraka, and his basilisk was awake and carried the load back to the ship for the trio.

Kast was 19 and the Battle of Althir had been ten years ago. Meelo could do the math, and she hated the numbers she was left with, and so while Amali piloted the Ebon Hawk back to Kharos, Meelo listened to Kast's stories. And then he paused, and said, "This is your Trial of Fidelity, then? You're ahead of me, I haven't taken any of my Trials. Ordo told me I could take his clan's Trials, but- I'm Daraka. If I was the last, then I couldn't-."

"I know," Meelo said. And then frowned. "I'm not Mandalorian, and Baati doesn't know what I'm doing. I didn't want to get her hopes up if it turned out there was nothing left for us to find."

Kast looked like he disagreed, but Amali called that the _Ebon Hawk_ was dropping out of hyperspace and the topic was dropped. The lush reds and pinks of Kharos flora beckoned, and when the _Ebon Hawk_ 's loading ramp dropped, Baati called a greeting from where she was sparring with Shakka. It looked almost more like a brawl, and certainly turned into one when Baati's shoulders went slack, dropping her guard, and Shakka's fist slammed into Baati's cheek.

It didn't seem to phase Baati, who had abandoned the duel to walk toward the _Hawk_ in a dream-like fugue. Shakka followed her, looking distantly curious, and then shared a look of awed and hopeful realization with Meelo as Kast rocketed forward to clutch his older clanmate. Baati met Meelo's eyes over Kast's shoulder, and mouthed her gratitude.

Once, Baati had returned Meelo's family to her, and now, Meelo had done the same. Daraka's numbers are growing, and Meelo's quiet hope that Daraka will thrive has been answered. The time to simply survive has ended.


End file.
